“Christ,” he said.

Somers nodded.

“That answers one question,” Dulac said.

“And raises a lot more.”

“Very funny, by the way.”

“Nobody home?”

“You could have told me the apartments were empty instead of making me trot around like an asshole.”

“I just wanted to make sure I was right. After all, you’re the one who spotted those flamingos. Good catch on that, by the way.”

Dulac rolled his eyes. “Ok, so nobody hears the shot because the units on both sides are empty. Fine. That makes his job easier. But did you look at the door?”

“I did. Will you check the slider? I’ll check the windows in here.”

Dulac’s steps moved away on the laminate, and the synthesized alarm on the iPad cut off. Somers moved around the bed, carefully to keep to the far side of the room, where he was least likely to contaminate evidence. When he got to the large windows that backed up to the patio, he raised the blinds, intending to check the locks.

Movement in the patio stopped him.

First, he swore.

Then, he sighed.

He rapped on the glass as Emery Hazard dropped down on the inside of the privacy fence. Hazard’s reaction was immediate and startling: the big man grabbed for his gun, jerking around pressing his back to the fence. A year ago, Hazard would have had more control. A year ago, Hazard wouldn’t be white and panting, leaning against the fence like it was the only thing holding him up.

“Shit,” Somers said, waving through the glass. “Don’t shoot me. I’m sorry.”

“Uh, dude,” Dulac called from the other room. Then a lock clicked, and the sound of the slider opening reached Somers. Dulac’s steps moved back through the apartment, and from the bedroom door, Dulac said, “I guess I’m going to check on the neighbors in the other buildings.” He shifted his weight, not quite looking over his shoulder, and added, “You ok here?” Another of those almost glances. “Alone?”

“Yeah,” Somers said.

Dulac took a step.

“Gray, thanks.”

“For what, man?” And then Dulac was gone.

Somers made his way out of the bedroom and stopped in the kitchen. Hazard stood just inside the sliding door, adjusting the massive cowboy revolver he now carried, settling it in the shoulder holster. Summer heat poured through the open doors at both ends of the apartment, the humidity like an invisible cloud, but Hazard was visibly shivering. Although shivering wasn’t the right word, probably. Trembling, maybe. Shaking.

“I’m sorry,” Somers said again. “I didn’t think.”

“Scared the fucking shit out of me.”

“Are you ok?”

“Yes, I’m ok.” Then Hazard wiped his face and said, “Yeah. I am.”

“Do you want to explain why you’re contaminating a crime scene and at risk of having Riggle throw you in a cell?”

“I’m not contaminating the scene, John.” Hazard gestured at his feet, where he had put on booties. “And I don’t think I’m at risk of getting thrown in a cell, am I?”